Road Beneath Us
by Shelbecat
Summary: Tim's reaction to the attempted rape of Tyra.


**Disclaimer:** I own the idea, everything else belongs to NBC.

**Road Beneath Us**

Landry offers to drive her home. When she can breathe again, she nods yes, still mute. She'll probably get in her truck again, but she knows she can't yet, not tonight.

It's raining again, streaks running horizontal on his windows. She listens to his troubled breathing. He's thinking, wondering. She doesn't say anything, just leans her head on the glass and stares. When he reaches her street, she asks him to keep driving. He hesitates, signal light making a soft _tink_,_ tink_ in the car. Then he pulls out and drives straight.

"Where…" He doesn't finish his sentence, hasn't finished one since he found her.

When her Momma sees her, it's going to be all 'What were you doing out there?' and 'What did you say to lead him on?' She'll have to go home eventually, have to feel the road beneath her and face up to the Colette disappointment, but right now she needs to feel safe. Needs to feel strong arms around her, cradling her so she won't crumble.

Landry is staring at her in the dark. She'd like to say 'yes' to his unspoken question, but she can't. His arms aren't strong enough tonight.

"Do you think the game is over?" she finally asks.

Landry is silent, taking the next left, then a quick right and popping out on the street leading straight to the Riggins house.

He gets it. Landry isn't stupid.

They pull up and the house is dark. Landry doesn't want to leave her here alone. It's the Riggins' house—she knows no one is stupid enough to hurt her here. She feels Landry's eyes on her as she searches for the key hidden under the step. It's right where she last put it, Billy and Tim have probably forgotten it's even there by now.

Landry's headlights pull away and she feels the darkness closing in tight around her. But her back is pressed against the sofa against the wall in the corner of Tim's living room and right now, it's the safest place she can think of.

When Tim walks in he doesn't see her, not right away. He flips on the light and tosses his hair back with a sharp flick of his neck. Mud splatters the wall behind him, but he doesn't look pissed. They must have won. He's still wearing half his gear, pants and pads, a turf shirt that looks more brown than white. When he turns to kick the door shut, he sees her and stops. Stares.

She can't meet his eyes, instead focuses on a patch of mud sprawling across his heart. It looks like Texas. Like a tattoo.

Her eyes flit up to his face, quick and uncertain. His expression is blank, then questioning. Muddy sneakers staining the carpet, he comes to her and falls onto the couch beside her. His eyes search hers, but she looks away, blinking back tears. One wet arm reaches out to snag around her shoulders and she shivers. She lets instinct take over, lolling her head against his arm, sinking into his hold.

When she doesn't say anything, he kisses the top of her head, caressing the spot with his lips.

"What is it?" he breathes.

Then she cries.

* * *

Her Momma notices the change, but Tyra says its school. It's okay with her mom if she studies at Julie's now, even if she sleeps over. It's the new 'get-Tyra-to-college' attitude and Tyra milks it for all it's worth. She hasn't cracked her math book since that night, but Julie is great at covering for her and Mrs. Taylor still thinks Landry is her tutor. Tyra goes to Tim's every day, feeling a new road solid beneath her feet, following him wherever he leads.

It took a day for her to tell him. Two to calm him down. But she didn't want cops, didn't want the stigma. A girl like her, in a small town, she was asking for it. Or at least that's what they'd say, and she'd rather know it and not hear it. She couldn't stand to hear it.

Tim tries to get her to tell him who it was. She doesn't know, or won't try to remember. The night is sharp in her mind, the diner, the rain, the hot sting of the lighter in her hand when she stamped it on his neck. But when she tries to see his face, it goes blurry. Maybe its self-preservation, maybe she doesn't want to know.

It's Landry who finds him. Landry who is smart enough to know that lonely losers like this guy don't just stop haunting empty diners. He finds him across town, eating a burger with one hand; the other bandaged and held tight to his chest. There's a burn on his face, a circle. Landry calls Matt, who's at work, who tells Smash, who calls Tim.

Tyra doesn't know it yet, but she's got a whole line of people just waiting to defend her. When she finds out, she won't believe it anyway.

She's nestled against Tim's chest, watching a rerun of Everwood when the phone rings. He grabs it and grunts into a few times. Then she's cold as he slips his body free from hers. He kisses her on the cheek.

"Be right back."

And he's gone. She locks the door behind him, sits back on the couch and pulls a cushion to her chest. Ephram is making her cry. She flips the channel to The Surreal Life. This also makes her cry, but in a very different way.

She falls asleep where she sits, waiting and wondering where Tim is and what takes him so long.

* * *

A noise at the door wakes her. She sits up straight, a deer caught in the headlights. Her throat feels like cotton, a sweat rising along her neck. She picks her way across the couch, lifting the corner of the curtain to peek out. Someone's there, leaning against the door, head bowed low. Then the body shifts and she sees hair in his face. Tim.

She rips the door open and he looks up, startled. Then she sees his face and gasps. Blood is spilling from his nose, down across his lips and teeth. His eye is swollen and purple. How many times can you have the same black eye she wonders? She takes his arm, leading him inside as he puts his weight on her, just a little.

She sits him on the couch, rushing to the kitchen to grab a cloth. Kneeling before him, she hesitates, hands unsure of where she can touch, where is safe.

"Who did this?" she whispers, searching his body for more injury.

Tim grunts, twists and shifts and tries to lean back. She reaches up with the cloth but he brushes her hand away, holds her wrist and holds her gaze.

"What happened, Tim? Who did this?"

He grimaces, and then, through the blood in his mouth, smiles.

"We got him."

A cold sword pierces her heart. She stares at his bruised face, wondering if she can believe it, if he really did this for her. She cups his cheek, running her fingers along the edge of a bruise. He looks worse than he did after the bar, after he went looking for it. It hits her hard in the chest that he went looking for it this time too.

"What did you do?" she asks.

"Found him. Killed him."

She knows he doesn't mean killed, but it gives her a picture. He probably looks worse than Tim does.

"Bastard fought back." Tim grins, then hisses and winces.

Tyra breathes out slowly, pushing a bloody strand of hair off his face. Her eyes run down his body. His knuckles are bloody, his hand bruised. He did this for her, without her asking, and a part of her is ashamed that it's what she wanted. She wants the guy to hurt, to feel pain the way she feels it, but not like this. Not with Tim like this.

"You can't…" She shakes her head. "You can't change it."

He reaches out to tip her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. He stares at her, broken and bruised, looking just as she feels on the inside.

"I'll try."

_/fin/_


End file.
